September’s Morn

Each year we gather our painful remembrances
of a sun swept day.

It was a Tuesday, not unlike many others…
an election day.

We stopped to cast votes as we went to work. We were
confident and young.

A short line to vote…Not too much of a delay
—But it was enough.

We walked holding hands. First came noise, then came the news
as people ran past.

The sunlight was dimmed – sirens wailing…a crushing sound
as towers crashed down.

We remember it – it was a roaring silence.
So impossible.

We walked together. Thousands walking together.
Walking in silence.

Friends and lovers – gone. We remember those we lost and
cherish those we found.

The scenes are burn scars – always to be encountered —
on September’s morn.

Single Red Rose

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